


Pleasure Doing Business

by youraveragejoke



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asphyxiation, Crack Treated Seriously, Hair-pulling, Large Cock, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but very mild, faun!mccree, like comically large y'all, satyr!hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youraveragejoke/pseuds/youraveragejoke
Summary: The sunset glows with too many shades of purple and the fog stays always just out of reach despite McCree's steady pace. It’s quiet but for the sound of a soft breeze rustling through the leaves. As he breaks through a clearing, the leaves quiet and the animals hush.McCree slows to a stop, large ears flicking in each direction, but the oppressive silence is answer enough: he's being watched.In which McCree thinks the best plan in a pinch is seduction, Hanzo is a satyr with all that entails, and McCree is really excited to try something new.





	Pleasure Doing Business

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as crack about McCree's insatiable oral fixation and Hanzo's comically large satyr dick after I drew some [faun!mccree/satyr!hanzo for the m&l zine](https://twitter.com/YourNaughtyJoke/status/1165454092816306177?s=20), but then it got way out of hand and turned into +3k of furry-adjacent porn so.  
Here we are.  
Enjoy.
> 
> PS: thank you robo for betaing this and entertaining my panic about murdering mccree with a full-sized bottle of wine.

They meet on a dream-like evening. The sunset glows with too many shades of purple and the fog stays always just out of reach despite McCree's steady pace. It’s quiet but for the sound of a soft breeze rustling through the leaves, and though McCree does not feel it, the pale wretch of a man beside him shivers violently and casts suspicious looks all around himself. McCree hides his irritation behind a snort when the man stumbles again, forcing McCree to slow down.

As they break through a clearing, the leaves quiet and the animals hush. McCree slows to a stop, large ears flicking in each direction, but the oppressive silence is answer enough: he's watching.

“Is this the place?” his companion asks. He sounds skeptical, but there is enough sense left in this callous shell of a man to keep his tone respectful in the presence of a fae.

“Not yet,” McCree says, distracted.

McCree scans the area again, a slow sweep of both eyes and ears. Still, he cannot determine where the satyr might be hiding.

“I don't mean to rush you but it's getting dark. Why have we st—”

“Then shut up and don’t rush me,” McCree snaps. The prospect of bringing this wretched human into the valley to meet his doom was delightful at the onset, but McCree didn’t expect the cantankerous denizen of the mountains to be so far downhill. He might be getting in trouble tonight if he’s not careful. “We're almost there. Just—give me a minute.”

Another anxious shuffle beside him, and McCree restrains the urge to simply kill the man and be off, nevermind that he needs him now to guarantee his own safety. It will be difficult to leave the satyr's territory without offense now that he's been noticed, and McCree would much rather avoid confrontation tonight; let the satyr fixate on the human first so that McCree can slip back out unnoticed.

“Alright,” McCree finally says. “Alright. It’s just beyond this clearing. See the thick bushes with berries?” The stranger nods, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “About 40 paces past that, there’s a spring. Just follow it south until you reach a fork, and then stay facing west. You’ll reach your—”

Suddenly, the man’s eyes bug out of his skull and he fumbles back, and McCree jolts as an uncomfortable shiver crawls up his spine. The fog creeps in tighter around them as the sun finally dips out of sight and the sky pitches into darkness. Just his luck, really.

“And what are you looking for, exactly?” a deep, gravelly voice behind him asks.

McCree huffs and turns to face the satyr, pleased to find that, should things take a turn for the worse, at least he has a few inches over his opponent. Though that seems to be his only advantage: he doesn’t miss the satyr’s razor sharp horns, or how compact and strong he is despite his height. McCree tries to fluff himself up, adjusts his posture so that his antlers loom more menacingly.

“My friend here wanted to get to Armskirk before sundown but got himself lost. I’ve been showing him back to the main road.” The satyr’s brow arches imperiously, clearly unimpressed with McCree’s lie, and McCree can’t help the feeling that he’s being looked down upon. He can’t help the way an excited shiver runs through him either, even though he’s sure he should feel insulted. “We’ll just get ourselves out of your hair then,” McCree tries.

“Hm, I don’t think so. In fact, I think I ought to skin you both alive for trespassing,” the satyr says, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

McCree sneers, entirely certain the satyr isn’t bluffing, and quickly debates the merits of feigning ignorance or challenging him. McCree doesn’t think the satyr is dumb enough to fall for the first, but he’s not convinced he could win if it come to a fight. Instead, McCree sweeps his eyes slowly, with clear intention, over the satyr’s body and opts for plan C. When he makes eye contact again, he says, “We could come to another arrangement if you’d rather. I’ve got plenty of gifts and talents I can exchange for safe passage.”

The satyr’s face goes through a complicated series of expressions from what McCree hopes is reciprocated interest, to surprise, possibly insult and finally a smirk which would make anyone else’s skin crawl, but somehow does nothing to convince McCree that this is a horrible idea.

“You are so confident that you can offer me anything worth my time?”

“For one, you can have the human,” McCree says, taking a step closer to the satyr. “And then after that,” he takes another step, gets inadvisably close to him and lowers his voice, tilts his head so that he can speak directly into his ear, “you can have me any way you’d like, sweetheart.”

The satyr scoffs, but if McCree isn’t wrong, it sounds a bit strained. He straightens to look down at the satyr again, and whatever McCree heard in his rough voice a moment ago is gone, replaced by amusement and a hint of… disappointed?

McCree understands why immediately, and turns just in time to find that the human he just offered is about to reach the edge of the clearing, scampering off as fast as his scrawny legs will take him.

McCree huffs, irritated, but one look at the satyr both thrills and reassures him.

“You shall have to come up with something more to persuade me, should I catch him first,” the satyr says, looking down his nose at McCree again.

“Hey now, wait a minute! I brought him here at all, he’s still mine to give!”

And with that, the satyr skips ahead first, barrelling straight for the treeline, and McCree hurries after. As they crash through the trees, McCree only catches glimpses of him, as he dodges foliage or leaps over low shrubbery, and he finds himself so distracted by the sight that he only narrowly misses getting his antlers tangled in a branch. The satyr suddenly swerves to the left as though he caught sight of the human, and a moment later, McCree breaks through another small clearing. He takes a chance and runs on through it while the satyr circles around. The lack of obstacles in the clearing means McCree reaches the end of the clearing first, and he spots the river which will shepherd the human towards the left where the satyr is heading. Or at least, it would have, if the human didn’t stop in his tracks to debate the wisdom of crossing it.

McCree’s grin turns absolutely feral as he hears the satyr’s frustrated snort further back. He charges the man, nearly tackling him into the river, and gets a large hand around his throat to subdue his struggles. The satyr breaks through the line of bushes, then, and slows his advance to stay just at the edge.

“Dumb luck,” the satyr sneers.

“I make my own luck, thank you very much.”

“Divine providence from your patron?”

“No,” McCree says. “That ol’ bastard is dead.”

“Oh. I am… sorry.” The satyr shifts uncomfortably, almost looks genuinely sympathetic and a little like he wants to say something else, but he stays quiet.

“Don’t worry about it.” The man in McCree’s grip makes another valiant attempt at getting free, flailing his limbs towards McCree’s midsection and trying to grab at his antlers, but McCree gives him a good shake and he settles again. “Now about our arrangement, ah…?”

“Hanzo.”

“Hanzo, huh? Name’s McCree. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Indeed. And I’m sure it will be a pleasure doing business with you,” Hanzo says, smirk both dangerous and seductive.

__

* * *

  
Eventually, they settle on hanging the man upside down from a tree by the toes, and Hanzo suggests covering him with honey and berries. “To attract wildlife,” he says with that grin that thrills McCree in all kinds of ways it really shouldn’t.

Hanzo insists they share a drink after, and though McCree is suspicious of his intentions at first—it wouldn't be unreasonable for the satyr to still be upset about the trespass—he finds he doesn’t mind the risk. Hanzo cracks open a small, but rich-looking bottle of wine he says he received as payment from foreigners a long time ago and takes a swig straight from it before he offers it to McCree with a challenge in his smile that McCree is too weak to refuse.

As the hours tick by and the bottle empties, McCree entertains Hanzo with songs from his lyre, and they snack on the extra fruits they harvested from their earlier foraging. All the while, McCree finds that the fabled temper of the mountain satyr isn't all that bad after all; he'd even go so far as to say that Hanzo's good company, though he hasn’t had much of that lately to compare with.

He nearly forgets his original offer until dawn breaks and Hanzo sighs, staring forlornly toward his mountain.

“I should head back. I have some urgent matters to attend to,” he says, though he does not rise from his slouch against the trunk of a large oak.

McCree doesn’t say anything right away, but when his eyes roam over Hanzo this time, it involves far less performance from his part. Hanzo seems to notice, practically preens under his attention, and doesn’t seem to mind that McCree keeps staring.

“I never held up my end of the bargain,” McCree says, licking his lips at the sight of Hanzo’s cock peeking through the curls of his fur.

“Hm. Seems we have both gotten rather carried away.”

“I don’t like owing favours for too long.” McCree half rises from his reclined position, settles onto his haunches a meter or so away from Hanzo.

“And what if I had bigger plans for you? I can think of more interesting ways to use you than just a small favour.” Something in Hanzo’s voice echoes a tiny tremble in McCree’s heart, but he buries that quickly.

“Maybe you’ll have to trespass in my meadows someday. We could work out another arrangement.”

Hanzo doesn’t deign to answer that, but he does beckon McCree closer. McCree goes, crawls the short distance to reach him and Hanzo’s cock twitches in response, continues to swell as McCree looks up at him. Hanzo’s touches his cheek ever so gently, and McCree places a soft kiss into the palm of his hand only for Hanzo to pull McCree’s head back slightly with a firm grip on his antlers. That sends a thrill through him, but something about the action stings a little, and McCree is quick to bury that too. Whatever it is McCree’s trying to make of this, it clearly isn’t what Hanzo needs or wants. This is, after all, only a transaction.

McCree eyes Hanzo’s cock instead, licks his lips in anticipation. He’s heard about satyr cocks before, of course he has. But actually seeing one in person, how it strains under its own weight, filling out to nearly the girth of the wine bottle they emptied hours ago… the sight has McCree practically vibrating with excitement. It’s huge, but manageable. Hanzo’s fingers curl under McCree’s chin, tilting it up, while his thumb runs rough and calloused over his lips, and McCree meets his eyes again.

Hanzo looks pensive, the hand on McCree’s antlers no longer applying any real force, simply petting gently up and down the soft velvet there as his generous bottom lip curls into a pout. McCree shivers again at the sensation.

“Something wrong?” McCree asks. He can’t help but feel like maybe Hanzo was more serious about wanting something else from him than his earlier tone implied.

“No.” Hanzo doesn’t say more right away, only continues to pet over McCree’s antlers and it’s all McCree can do not to melt into the touch. He can feel his own cock filling up, standing eager and untouched between his thighs. “Are these so sensitive?” Hanzo asks, surprised.

“Mmm, kind of. It depends on the time of year. They are now.” Hanzo hums and releases them, but not before giving them one last, lingering pet. The hand on McCree’s chin, however, stays put.

There’s another moment of almost quiet contemplation between them until McCree runs his hands up the thick fur on Hanzo’s thighs. Hanzo’s breath hitches, his tail whipping behind him, and he finally, _finally_, moves his hand to the back of McCree’s head, guiding him gently toward Hanzo’s cock.

Once it’s within reach, McCree drops a kiss on the very tip of it and is rewarded when it twitches. He flicks his tongue out to taste the bit of pre starting to pearl there, then takes the whole head into his mouth to chase the flavour. McCree already has to stretch his jaw wide, has to be careful of his teeth as he takes it in. Hanzo sags further into the tree while the hand at the back of McCree’s neck threads through his hair. McCree pulls off with a pop to check up on Hanzo one last time. The attractive flush of his cheeks and the tiny, but sure nod of his head are all the encouragement McCree needs.

He dives back down, this time taking as much of Hanzo into his mouth as he can. He can already feel the stress in his jaw, and he’s not surprised to find that he barely makes it halfway before the head bumps into the back of his mouth. He slides one hand up to grab at Hanzo’s ass and the other to secure the base of Hanzo’s cock as he laves the underside of it with the flat of his tongue. McCree pulls back up slowly, keeps his tongue flat and applies as much pressure as he can with it once he reaches the head. Hanzo lets out a stuttered breath, tightens the hand in McCree’s hair as McCree circles the head over and over, closes his mouth to suck hard. More pre gushes into McCree’s mouth and he swallows around it, keeps his lips sealed tight.

Then, suddenly, McCree dives back down and this time, he makes it a bit further, focuses on keeping his throat open. He opens his eyes, didn’t even realize they were closed, and stares right up into Hanzo’s as he sinks a little deeper still. Hanzo’s eyes grow cloudy but he seems determined to keep them open, to watch as McCree takes an inch more. McCree’s mouth reaches his hand now, and he stays there for a moment, working his throat around Hanzo’s cock. He can feel tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and his head getting lighter. Once the edges of his vision start to darken, McCree pulls back but doesn’t entirely release Hanzo’s cock.

Instead, he plays with the head again, alternating between hard suction and soft swipes of his tongue until he can catch his breath, give his jaw a break. Hanzo’s cock is nearly constantly leaking now, and McCree has to tighten his grip on the fur of Hanzo’s ass to keep him from bucking his hips. Hanzo seems to get the hint and manages to stay still, but McCree catches a few sounds he suspects Hanzo is trying to hold back, and it does nothing but stoke the fire in his belly.

As soon as he’s ready, McCree screws his mouth back down, reaches his hand at the base with considerably less effort this time, and tightens his throat, revels in the feeling of Hanzo’s cock twitching into the back of it. He groans, tries to go down deeper, but nearly chokes before pulling back to where he’s more comfortable. The convulsions of his throat prove to be too much, though, and Hanzo’s grip on McCree’s hair becomes nearly painful as Hanzo suddenly comes on a gasp. McCree’s surprised, expected a satyr to have more stamina than that, but he manages to swallow everything down as the knot in his gut gets tighter. He even has the presence of mind to keep up his ministrations and he gently milks Hanzo’s cock until the sounds he’s making pitch higher and he tugs at McCree to pull him off.

McCree goes easily enough, but he doesn’t get far, rests his forehead onto Hanzo’s thigh and relinquishes his grip on Hanzo’s cock in order to get a hand on himself. He strips himself hard and fast, panting as he tries to catch his breath, but he’s already so close, he’s desperate for release. He’s teetering on the edge, just barely there when Hanzo gets a shaky hand back on his antlers. He squeezes just a little, pets up and down and McCree’s almost certain he can even hear Hanzo cooing encouragements at him through the sound of blood rushing in his ears. It’s enough to push him over the edge, just as Hanzo grabs hold with both hands, and it’s all McCree can do not to curl in on himself and subject Hanzo to the business end of his antlers as he comes into the palm of his hand.

There’s a moment where McCree and Hanzo only breathe, McCree still gripping Hanzo by the fur of his legs, slouched into his thigh, and Hanzo leaning back against the tree, thumbs idly rubbing up and down McCree’s antlers.

“It certainly was a pleasure doing business with you,” Hanzo manages to get out between still-shaky breaths.

McCree chuckles, but he consciously forces himself to let go of Hanzo’s fur entirely, instead of stubbornly clinging to him like he wants to. He definitely doesn’t have to hold back a disappointed sigh, or have to talk his heart into being reasonable about all this. He can’t go falling for the first person he’s had any kind of meaningful interaction with in almost a century. Besides, _he’s_ the one who proposed this transaction in the first place; he should have known better than to get his hopes up. When did they even get so high anyway?

It doesn’t matter. Hanzo has to go back to his mountain—to his patron’s temple most likely—and McCree will probably only ever catch him in the spring when he does his rounds down into the valley. Assuming Hanzo remains as generous about future trespasses, and they even cross paths at all.

McCree doesn’t realize he stayed silent for so long until Hanzo’s expression grows concerned. The thumbs rubbing at his antlers cease and fall away entirely, and McCree _definitely_ doesn’t whine at their loss. Hanzo crouches, and, with a surprisingly soft expression, cups McCree’s face, forcing McCree to look at him.

“What’s wrong? Did it— did I... hurt you?”

McCree panics for a moment, afraid Hanzo somehow read him, until he catches on to what Hanzo meant after he shifts self-consciously, trying to hide his cock. And then, McCree can’t help the almost hysterical giggle that bubbles out of him, nor the full on belly laughter that follows. Hanzo quickly retracts his hands from McCree’s face, all softness gone.

“Alright, well, if you are just going to make fun—”

“No! No, darlin’ no, it ain’t that. God it’s definitely not that,” McCree gets out between hiccups of laughter. “I mean, my jaw’s gonna be aching for days, but that’s a price I’d pay again in a second.”

“Then _what_?”

“It ain’t anything you need to worry about, sweetheart,” McCree reassures him. Hanzo looks entirely unconvinced but thankfully does not push the issue further. Instead, he rises slowly, his legs still a little wobbly—and damn it, McCree shouldn’t be so damn proud of that—to collect his things that got scattered around the clearing as the night wore on.

McCree shamelessly watches Hanzo as he crouches here, reaches up into the branches over there, before getting up to follow suit with a slightly heavy heart. It seems that would be the end of that, and they’d move on their separate ways, but just as Hanzo packs away the last of his belongings into his satchel, he pauses. McCree turns toward him.

“When would be a good time to… trespass into your meadows?” Hanzo asks, though he is awfully focused on tying his gourd around his belt and McCree’s heart does its best to leap into his throat.

“I’m not one to migrate, really. Ain’t got no herd, got nowhere else to go. Anytime really.” He tries for a casual, unaffected tone. Isn’t sure he manages it.

“Would a fortnight be too soon? I have that urgent matter to attend to, but I will be back—”

“No! I mean, yes. I mean, no, it’s not too soon. Yes, you can come visit.” McCree entirely abandons pretense at this point, unable to rein in his excitement.

“Would you be amenable to a… less short-term arrangement?” Hanzo looks at him now with what McCree imagines is meant to be a neutral expression, but his expressive eyes are wide with hope.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could definitely be persuaded,” McCree says, unable to hold back a grin.

“Excellent. I will see you then.” With that, Hanzo skips over toward McCree, and before McCree can register what his intentions are, plants a soft, tentative kiss to his lips. Hanzo nearly pulls back before McCree can catch up to the situation and reciprocate, but when he does, he catches Hanzo by the waist and holds him tightly.

“See you then,” McCree promises, smile so wide, it makes the next kiss he gives Hanzo land awkwardly.

After several more kisses, Hanzo extricates himself from McCree’s hold, gives him one more kiss, and doesn’t break eye contact until he’s beyond the line of trees.

They part on a dream-like morning, but they meet again, and again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best with the tagging but I'm still pretty inexperienced with knowing what needs mentioning and what comes off as excessive, so if you need one added, please let me know!


End file.
